A Method to his Madness
by Bakura's Guardian Angel
Summary: “Help me…” It was the first thing he ever said to me. I knew at once that we were irreconcilably different, but the differences didn't seem to matter. Not then. And so the first thing I said to him was, “Yes.”
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A/N: I've been sitting on this awhile. It is a story told in brief "snapshots." It's not doing any good just gathering dust on my computer so here it is.

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"Help me…"

It was the first thing he ever said to me.

I stared at him, feeling numb as I gazed upon a being that stood, bent and weak, in the shadows of my room. He could have been my reflection. Our hair, our skin, the contours of our faces were nearly identical… Except his eyes… They were antithetical to my gentle green spring grass eyes. I could see them from the shadows; brown, but almost red, the color of mahogany. They were analyzing me, somehow commanding my attention despite his apparent weakness.

I knew at once that we were irreconcilably different…

But the differences didn't seem to matter. Not then.

What mattered was: Where had he come from? Why now? He took a staggering step forward and stood before me, faced me. Only he wasn't really there… More like an apparition. Was he real? Or was it a result of my overactive imagination? Then he reached out to me; gripped my forearms with cruelly thin, bone-cold hands. I felt the fingers dig in to my skin. It hurt. I jumped, suddenly terrified, and tried to pull back, but he held tight. And I knew, I just knew, that he was as real as I was.

I struggled for only a moment until he hissed, "Please…." I met his gaze again. And all at once, something changed in my heart. It ached. The fear flooded from me. Suddenly it didn't matter where he'd come from, or how, because in his eyes I now saw the pain of loss, the pain of loneliness. I could hear screams and flame in his memory. I could see blood. I saw shadows in his eyes…and they concealed the roiling darkness that he harbored.

After what seemed an eternity his hands relaxed. Not releasing me, but no longer gripping me with such sharp intensity, he sighed and leaned his head on my shoulder. He seemed exhausted, and I felt my heart ache deeper. I pitied him.

My first mistake.

"Will you help me…" He murmured a second time. And though it was phrased like a question, it was not a plea. I could hear it in the sharp undertone of his frail voice. It was an order, a demand.

But I could feel his pain…

And so the first thing I said to him was, "Yes."

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To Be Continued...

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**Chapter 2**

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At first nothing changed. After that first night, after I'd agreed to help the ethereal being who had appeared to me, I had expected… well, something. But he'd merely moved into the shadows of my room and, literally, faded from existence. I'd fallen asleep filled with anxiety, unsure if I'd seen him at all, and I woke wondering if it had been some hyper-realistic dream.

Nothing changed.

For several weeks, I was sure I must have imagined the entire encounter.

But then... Something was different.

It was not tangible, or something I could even have begun to describe. Just a feeling of not being alone, even when no one else was around. I would close my eyes, and feel _something_ there. Something just out of reach, like trying to recall the details of a dream after you've been woken suddenly.

 _What is it,_ I had wondered to myself as I sat in my room and pondered the sensation that was plaguing me. And the question itself had felt wrong.

Not ' _what'_.

Something shifted in the periphery of my vision, and I glanced up quickly.

The being, there and not there, stood in the far corner of my room as he had the first night. But now, my mind racing, I noticed several differences. He no longer appeared frail, or broken. His gaze was on me, stronger, darker, more guarded.

I held my breath.

No, I thought, definitely not 'What'.

 _Who_.

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This one is short. I assure you, they'll get longer as the story progresses.

Thanks to Evil Overlady and BlackWolf888 for your reviews! I appreciate the feedback.


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**Chapter 3**

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"Are you real?"

I whispered the question. I sat on the floor in my room in the dark. It was late. The being was nowhere to be seen, but, still, I could feel that unique sensation of not-alone-ness.

I held my breath as I waited.

One minute. Then two. Then five.

I sighed, dropping my head into my hands. I hadn't been disappointed, not really. But there had been a sense of...helplessness. Like I wanted to be useful, and was somehow already letting down the being who had somehow taken root in my life.

I stood, moving to climb into my bed.

Then something shifted. The air seemed to still and tension raised the hair on my neck.

"I am as real as you are," a sharp voice said, far closer than I'd expected.

I jumped, whipping around quickly. He stood less than a foot away, and I almost fell backwards. His hand reached out though, faster than my eyes could follow, and gripped my hand, keeping me upright. His face was serious, but I thought I could see a smirk in his eyes.

"Are you afraid?" He asked me. His eyes were intent. I hesitated, and he stepped closer. His voice grew softer, "Are you afraid of me?"

I met his gaze, and shook my head slowly.

He quirked his lips in ghost of a smile.

Then he was gone again, the only trace of him left the strange sense of presence in my mind.

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**Chapter 4**

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Several weeks passed. He was not unlike a tenant in my life. He "rented" space in my mind, what he called a soul room. And after he came, I had a feeling that he wasn't about to leave. Regardless, I told myself that it didn't matter. I had no intention of casting him out. I remembered that first night. I remembered his pain, his desperation. So how could I?

(The idea that I could not have cast him out when I wanted to, no matter how I tried, never occurred to me.)

I noticed things, gradually.

I noticed how no one else could see him, though he would often stand in plain sight, watching silently. I wondered why I was the only one he appeared to.

He didn't speak to me often, but he would appear often, an ethereal form, drifting, hardly real. Sometimes he would touch my hair, lay a hand on my shoulder, stand and gaze sightlessly out the windows, until he would eventually disappear. At first it startled me, and I was wary of him. But, not after long, he was just a part of the atmosphere, as regular as the music floating from the radio, or the vacuum rumbling over carpet.

I didn't press him for more details. I didn't ask him who he was. I didn't ask him what had brought him to me. I didn't ask him where he had come from. I didn't ask him why he was here. I suppose I made the assumption that he was some sort of spirit… Perhaps I should have been concerned about the idea of being haunted by the soul of someone long dead, but it didn't bother me. The occult never had.

All I knew was that he was hurting. I could still feel it. I could see it in his eyes when he met my gaze. And that was enough.

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